


To Heaven and Hell... and Back

by evilwriter37



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Chains, Gen, Torture, Wing torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Hell and Heaven made a trade. Hell gets Aziraphale and Heaven gets Crowley. Heaven and Hell must torture them and show proof to each other.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	To Heaven and Hell... and Back

Crowley watched in horror as Aziraphale was hit with a crowbar. He tried to yell, to shout, but his mouth was gagged, and he was being dragged away by angels. He kicked frantically, struggled, writhed, but they had a firm, strong grip on him. He watched as Hastur crouched over Aziraphale, as his angel lost consciousness. He managed a wordless, muffled scream. The humans around him didn’t seem to notice what was happening. The angels must have done some miracle to make it that way. Besides, even if the humans saw this, they wouldn’t be able to help anyway, and Crowley didn’t want them interfering and getting hurt. 

He was forced into a car, and he watched through the window as Aziraphale’s limp form was picked up and carried away. He wanted desperately to do something, was more worried about Aziraphale than himself. Aziraphale was being taken to Hell. God, what would they do to him there? 

What could Heaven possibly do to him? Aziraphale had said that all they did was write him strongly worded letters about their displeasure. Meanwhile, Hell had promised Crowley unimaginable torture if he messed with their plans. It seemed that Heaven and Hell had done some sort of trade. Hell would take care of Heaven’s nuisance, and Heaven would take care of Hell’s. 

But then again, Heaven possibly could do some pretty bad things to him. Gabriel hadn’t seemed so nice when he’d been addressing the both of them the day before. He’d seemed… scary, actually. 

Crowley just sat in the car, between two angels guarding him, the road bumping along beneath them. He didn’t try to get out. He knew that he couldn’t. There were too many of the angels and only one of him. Maybe he could miracle his way out of this…

But no. As he thought it, the angels were tightly binding his hands, and the rope held power — he could tell — cutting off his own. 

_ Dammit. _

Crowley looked out the window again, the park now out of view, Aziraphale gone, and who knew what pain would befall him?

  
  


Incessant throbbing in his head, pressure and stinging in his wrists. Aziraphale groaned, worked on blinking open his eyes. For a moment he thought he hadn’t even opened them. Then he realized he had and that wherever he was was just terribly dark. Though, he could see a little bit of white light filtering in in a line, from under what must be a doorway. 

It was hard to think, but he tried to get his bearings. Where had he been? Yes, he’d been in the park with Crowley. They’d been walking along together when he’d felt a terrible pain in the back of his head. He’d looked up to see a demon smiling down at him. He guessed he was Hastur, from Crowley’s description of him, though he’d been in a poor disguise as a human woman. How had Aziraphale not noticed before? Perhaps a glamour had been in place, and he’d dropped it to smile down at him and let him know his fate.

Heaven hadn’t come after Aziraphale.

Hell had.

He knew what Heaven was capable of, and was rightly afraid of them, but had no idea what Hell could do, what they  _ would  _ do. Hell had no boundaries when it came to pain and torment. 

But Aziraphale could do nothing but wait. He was restrained to a chair by his wrists, clothing still all in place. If he had to guess, Hell was keeping him waiting. Odd, but maybe that was part of the torture: to let him wait and think over all that they could do to him. 

And wonder about what had happened to Crowley.

  
  


Crowley hadn’t been in Heaven in a long, long time. It had changed a lot since then, from what he’d seen of it, which wasn’t much really, given that they’d blindfolded him upon getting out of the car. Now, he was in a completely white room. The walls were plaster instead of the stone he remembered, and the light came from fluorescents above. They’d apparently taken a more modern turn, just like Hell had. 

_ White’s going to be messy _ , Crowley thought. What they were going to do to him would surely involve blood, and that would just get everywhere and leave a stain. Maybe they wanted it to. 

They’d forcefully taken his clothes from him despite his best protests, which hadn’t been much given the gag, and then he’d been bound standing to hooks that protruded from the ceiling with the same type of rope as before. He was completely cut off from his powers, completely and utterly useless. Useless to save himself, and to get downstairs to Hell and save Aziraphale. 

Crowley was left alone for a time, but then angels filed in. Two he could place: Uriel and Gabriel. The other three, he had no idea of who they were. 

“Why am I here?” Crowley asked. They’d un-gagged him, (probably in order to hear him scream better. Gabriel had a cruel glint in his purple eyes.) “Thought Hell would come collect me. Guess they couldn’t be bothered?”

“We worked out a trade,” Gabriel told him, coming close. He poked him in the chest. “ _ We  _ get you, while Hell gets that soft lump Aziraphale.”

Crowley bared his teeth at what Gabriel had referred to Aziraphale as. He didn’t like that one bit. They had no respect for him whatsoever, even though he’d helped prevent the end of the world. But then again, the angels and demons had wanted that, had wanted the Earth to be plunged into battle and fire. Crowley most certainly hadn’t wanted that. Humans were much too interesting. It wasn’t fair to want to destroy them. 

“And then what?” Crowley asked. His mouth felt dry. 

“And then we punish you,” Gabriel said. “In whatever way we see fit. Shall we begin?”

  
  


Aziraphale looked up as the door opened. A demon with flies swirling around zir head entered, along with one covered in warts and another who must be Hastur. The fly demon flicked on a light and Aziraphale was blinded by white fluorescents. When he was able to see again he recognized the fly demon as Beelzebub. 

“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale said nervously. He licked his dry lips. “Anyone mind telling me what I’m doing here?” 

“You’re here to face punishment,” Beelzebub drawled. 

“Um, why not with Heaven?”

“A deal was made,” the wart-covered demon answered. She had long red hair tied back into a tail. “Heaven gets your boyfriend while we get you.”

Aziraphale wasn’t going to bother protesting that Crowley wasn’t his boyfriend. He meant more to him than that one little word could convey, but there was no point in fighting it, not in the position he was in. 

Aziraphale smiled nervously. “Oh good. Beelzebub, I know you, but who is everyone else?”

“I am Dagon,” the wart-covered demon said. She gestured to the other one, no longer in his disguise as a human. “And this is Hastur.”

“Crowley’s told me a lot about you,” Hastur said, coming forward. “Gave is all these reports on you and your battles.” He used air quotes around the word “battles.” “But there were no battles, were there? You two are friends. You two are  _ more  _ than friends.”

Aziraphale stayed silent. He wasn’t going to confirm or deny what Hastur had said. It was useless. Besides, he didn’t want them using Crowley to taunt him. Oh, he hoped he was alright, but he highly doubted it. Heaven could be cruel when they wanted to be, and this time they surely did.

  
  


Crowley screamed. All Gabriel had done was touch him, gently, on the shoulder, and now he was in a world of hurt. It was like fire was racing through his veins, eating away at them, burning outwards to get at the rest of him. It was  _ everywhere _ , hurting worse where his nerves told it to. That meant his stomach, the soft flesh of his underarms, his shoulders, his thighs, his genitals. He was surprised he didn’t smell burning flesh. 

His voice echoed off the pure white walls around them. As time went on, Crowley decided he would have  _ preferred _ it if he did smell his own burning flesh. At least then he would be discorporated, but this left him in his body to burn.

Crowley had decided that he wasn’t going to beg, but that had been before this had started, before he had felt the pure agony Gabriel could bring with just a touch.

“ _ Stop! _ ” he shrieked. “Stop, stop,  _ stop! _ ”

Gabriel didn’t, didn’t pull his hand away, and the burning continued. It was as if he was being doused in holy water, and as it went on, he wished that he was. 

  
  


The demons were rough with Aziraphale. They’d untied him from the chair, but only to tear his clothes into tatters and chain him up standing with his arms above him.

“No, not my bow tie!” Aziraphale cried as Hastur made the article go up in flames. It dwindled to ash in his hand. 

“That won’t be the last thing you’re complaining about,” Beelzebub said. Ze were shorter than him, but ze came up and stared him in the eye. Zir own eyes were black and soulless. Aziraphale gulped. 

“Dagon, the whip.”

“Which one, my lord?”

“Cat o’ Nine Tails.”

There was a table in the room, a table loaded with the most horrible implements Aziraphale had ever seen. From that table, Dagon withdrew a whip with nine tails and handed it to Beelzebub. Beelzebub circled around him, stroking the weapon in one hand. 

“Where should I begin?” ze mused aloud.

“The cock,” Hastur suggested. “Ruin it for Crowley.” There was a cruel, little smile on his lips.

“Please don’t,” Aziraphale uttered, his words quieter than he’d wanted them to be. 

“Then where do you suggest, Aziraphale?” Beelzebub brought up the whip, stroked over his face with it. 

“Uh, um… Let’s see… I…”

Aziraphale’s words were interrupted with a scream as the whip dashed across his thighs and genitals, all nine tails of it. Skin was torn open, leaving red to stream down. Aziraphale tried pulling himself away, but chained up, he could do nothing to avoid the whip. It came down again and again. Aziraphale had never experienced the human feeling of nausea before, but he figured that that’s what this was, what with his stomach queasy and saliva pooling in his mouth. The pain was bad enough for his body to want to vomit. Instead, he just shrieked. 

  
  


Crowley was given a reprieve as Gabriel stepped away. He hung his head, panting, trying to catch his breath. The fire was receding from his body with a tingling sensation. 

“That was refreshing,” he said breathlessly. “Who’s next?”

Uriel’s face was one of stone as she stepped forward. She said nothing to Crowley’s sarcasm, but Gabriel smiled. 

“You’re fun, Crowley. It’s almost too bad we hadn’t gotten to do this a while ago.”

“Oh, yes, very fun. I’m always one for torture-  _ agh! _ ”

Uriel had touched his right arm, and as she did so, a bone broke in his forearm. It split outwards through the skin, spattering blood on Uriel’s immaculate clothing and the floor. Crowley screamed some more. The chain was tugging on his arm and making the break even worse. Agony pierced through him like a lightning bolt. He wished he could faint. 

Uriel wasn’t done with him yet. She touched his shoulder, and tendons pulled and popped, bone crunching. Crowley shrieked and sobbed. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before jabbed through his body.

“H-how long is this going to go on for?” he somehow managed to ask.

“As long as we want,” Gabriel told him. “And we have to show Hell proof of your ruined body.”

Uriel touched him again.

  
  


Once Beelzebub had beaten his thighs and his cock into a bloody pulp, the whip landed on Aziraphale’s back. It hurt a little less here, but only a little. The tails lashed across his shoulders, his upper back, his lower back. He would yell each time they hit him, each time blood flew. The demons were smiling at him.

Finally, the whip was lowered, but Aziraphale knew that meant that they would be moving onto something else, possibly something worse. He wished he had it in him to say something sarcastic, but all he could do was glare at the demons with eyes hooded with anguish. 

“What next, my lord?” Dagon asked.

“The comb,” Beelzebub answered.

Now Aziraphale had it in him for a little attitude when he heard the name of the next torture device.

“What? Are you going to comb my hair the wrong way and I hope I squeal?”

Hastur was handing the torture instrument to Beelzebub, who had a smile on zir face. They held up the comb. Each tooth looked to be razor sharp, like its own little blade. 

“I’ll be combing your flesh,” Beelzebub answered. 

Aziraphale swallowed roughly, terror running like ice water through his veins.

“Oh,” was all he could say. 

The comb was placed on his unmarred stomach. His chest heaved in anticipation of the agony to come. 

It  _ hurt _ . The comb dug down into Aziraphale’s flesh, then trailed slowly downwards, gouging out a path of blood with each tooth. He bellowed and tugged on his chains. 

  
  


“Your wings, Crowley,” one of the other angels said. Crowley had learned by listening to their talking that his name was Sandalphon. 

“ _ No _ ,” Crowley sobbed. He wasn’t going to show his wings to these horrible people. They would just hurt him there. So many of his bones were broken, and he didn’t want these broken too. It was hard to stand up, to have the rope tugging on his arms. It just pulled on his broken bones, the agony nearly blinding. His tears certainly were. They streamed down his face, stained his cheeks with saltiness. 

The two angels that Crowley didn’t know the names of came forward with blades. 

“Your  _ wings _ ,” one said, drawing a knife and placing it against Crowley’s chest. Crowley knew this wouldn’t discorporate him. It took a lot to do that. 

And, at the threat of more pain, Crowley drew his wings into this realm of existence. They were pitch black, a stain upon the white of the room. He wanted to stretch them, but was afraid of what would happen if he moved them, what the angels would do. 

“Lovely,” Gabriel said. His hands were clasped in front of him. There was no blood on him. However, there was blood on Uriel.

Sandalphon drew a blade and stepped forward with a sickening smile on his face. He went behind Crowley, took one wing with a firm grip.

“Please don’t do this,” Crowley choked out. 

“Oh, but we want to,” Sandalphon said. “Don’t we, Gabriel?”

Gabriel smiled. “Justice for Hell’s traitor.”

The knife slashed at his right wing, cutting off feathers, digging into flesh. Crowley yelled, tried wrestling his wing out of Sandalphon’s grip, but it was strong. He slashed at him again, but slowly this time, taking his time about dragging the blade across his wing. It hurt to Hell and back. 

  
  


Beelzebub had put the comb down on the table, zir hands bloodied. Then they went back over to Aziraphale, stroked a tear from his face, staining his cheek with scarlet. 

“I like your tears, angel.” Beelzebub put a finger in zir mouth, sucked on the blood on it. “I like your blood.”

“G-good for you,” Aziraphale panted out. Pain was stealing his breath. “Are we nearly finished?”

“One more thing,” Dagon said. She flashed her teeth at him like she was going to rip out his throat with them. “Your wings.”

Dread dropped into the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach like a heavy stone.

“M-my wings?” he squeaked.

“Show them to us or your back will face the comb,” Beelzebub ordered.

Aziraphale didn’t want that. His back was already ruined from the whip. Reluctantly, he called upon his wings. They were a stark contrast against the black of the walls and the red of his blood, pure white against sullied color. 

Without saying anything, Hastur went around to his back, as well as Dagon. Aziraphale sobbed in anticipation of what they would do to him. Hadn’t he suffered enough? 

He flinched when they each grabbed a wing in a hard, painful grip. His breathing was fast in anticipation. He knew what was going to happen.

The sound of snapping came simultaneously from each wing. Aziraphale screamed as his wings were broken, lances of pain shooting through him. He wished he could faint. He felt like he nearly did, his feet slipping out from under him, but the chains kept him up. Panting, groaning, tears slipping from his eyes, he managed to get his feet back under him. Better to stand than have his arms pulled on. 

“I’ve always wanted to break an angel’s wings,” a voice said in his ear, slithery and slick: Hastur’s. He pulled on the broken bone, making Aziraphale scream and sob. “How does it feel?”

“That’s enough, Hastur,” Beelzebub said, though ze seemed reluctant to stop the torture. 

_ Enough?  _ Aziraphale thought.  _ Are we done? _

Beelzebub came over with a key, began unlocking the manacles around his wrists. “Time to give you to Heaven.”

  
  


They had to drag Crowley, both his legs broken from Uriel’s cruel touch. That hurt terribly, and he gave out cries and yelps each time someone moved in a bad way, and that was often. The two nameless angels each had him by an arm, those broken too, dragging him through the white halls of Heaven. Well, Crowley assumed them to be white — they’d blindfolded him again.

Down the stairs was the worst, but eventually they stopped and pulled the blindfold off of him. They were on the middle floor between Heaven and Hell, a meeting place for demons and angels alike. The walls and floors were gray. Craning his head to look over his shoulder, Crowley saw a trail of blood.

He watched as Beelzebub, zir hands and clothing bloodied, rounded a corner. Behind zem was Hastur and Dagon, and between the two demons was Aziraphale. Crowley could only recognize him because of his face. The rest of him was covered in blood. His wings were bent and broken. Crowley was glad Heaven hadn’t done that to him, though his own wings were still bleeding.

“I see the trade went well,” Beelzebub said, looking over Crowley. Behind zem, Hastur had a pleased smile on his face. Of course. He’d never liked him, had always wanted to see him “put in his place.”

Gabriel was appraising Aziraphale with a similar expression to Hastur’s. “It would seem it did.”

_ I’ll grab Aziraphale when they trade us off,  _ Crowley thought. There had to be a way to escape. They’d gotten rid of the rope binding his powers, probably thinking him too weak to do anything. They were wrong. As slashed as his wings were, he could still fly. The same couldn’t be said of Aziraphale, but if the two of them held onto each other…

“Trade back?” Gabriel asked. “As fun as your traitor was, I think Aziraphale will be more so.”

_ More torture.  _ They had more torture planned for them, but this time at the hands of their respective sides. Crowley would be handed to Hell and be tortured by them, and Aziraphale by Heaven. He couldn’t let that happen to either of them. He met Aziraphale’s gaze, tried imbuing his plan through it. His eyes weren’t covered by his sunglasses, so he hoped he could see what he had in mind. 

The two nameless angels dragged Crowley forward, and Dagon and Hastur began pulling along Aziraphale. Though the movement hurt to high Heaven, Crowley kept eye contact with Aziraphale. He could only make this work with him on board. 

As they were passing each other, Aziraphale escaped from Dagon and Hastur’s grips, threw himself at Crowley and grabbed hold of him. Crowley wrested himself away from the angels, held onto Aziraphale as best he could with his broken bones. Chest-to-chest, yelling in their ears, Crowley took off.

It hurt. It hurt terribly. Crowley usually felt free when he flew. Flying was different from the way a bird flew. They could transcend time and space, and it could take an instant to get somewhere. Crowley didn’t go to the bookshop, or his apartment. Instead, he went far away, to the coast, the South Downs. His wings streamed blood, probably turning into red rain over the Earth. Something felt heavier than just Aziraphale, and when they landed, Crowley on the wet grass, he realized why: Hastur had grabbed onto them.

He was currently grappling with Aziraphale, who still had the strength to stand. Crowley realized he’d landed on the edge of a cliff, and now Hastur and Aziraphale were struggling to push the other over the side.

“You bastards!” Hastur screamed. “You traitorous bastards!”

Crowley crawled forward. He didn’t know what he planned on doing, but he had to help Aziraphale somehow. Miracle — he could do a miracle. A small one, of course, but it would be better than nothing. It would give Aziraphale the upper hand.

Crowley held out his hand, and one rock under Hastur’s feet suddenly wasn’t there. He went toppling over the edge of the cliff, screaming. 

But there was a problem. He held onto Aziraphale. And Aziraphale went with him.

“ _ Aziraphale! _ ” Crowley’s voice was hoarse from screaming, but the shout came out of him clearly. He crawled over to the edge as fast as he could, heart thumping hard. If Aziraphale had been discorporated, he would just end up back in Heaven’s hands. Frantically, he looked over the edge.

Aziraphale held on by one arm. Hastur was no longer attached to him, the blood making him slick to hold onto. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. He couldn’t fly. He needed his help.

But Crowley’s arms were broken.

Oh Heaven, he would have to try. 

He thrust out one arm, and Aziraphale grabbed onto it. Crowley tried healing it while he held on, but couldn’t, blinded by pain. With everything he had left in him, he tugged, pain screaming through his arm, making everything spin and blur. 

Sometime later, he came back to himself, laying on his back, wings spread out, and there was someone laying next to him: Aziraphale. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley panted. The angel looked at him, his face distraught.

“Y-you’re so hurt,” Aziraphale said, eyes welling with tears.

“No, no, don’t cry over me,” Crowley said. “You’re injured too.”

Demons and angels could heal fast, but these would take some time. For the time being, Crowley laid a hand on Aziraphale, closed his wounds, cleaned the blood off of him, and Aziraphale did the same for him.d He grunted as his bones clicked back into place. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley croaked out. 

“I’m sorry too,” Aziraphale said. The both of them just stared at the sky. “But at least we got out of it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed. “At least we did.”

He realized they would have to move again, given that Hastur now knew their position, but it would take him some time to regenerate his body. For now, they just laid there. Crowley examined the wounds on Aziraphale’s torso, long, horrible gashes. He couldn’t place what weapon had been used.

“What’d they do to you?” he asked.

Aziraphale looked to him. “Things I’d rather not talk about now. You?”

“Same.” Crowley didn’t want to mar his angel’s ears with what had been done to him at the hands of Heaven. He had ideas of what Hell had done. The wounds on his thighs looked like ones from a whip.

It took too long for Crowley to realize that the both of them were still naked, laying together in the wet grass. He miracled himself some clothes, all he could really manage for the moment. After seeing him clothed, Aziraphale did the same. He even had his usual bow tie. Crowley felt bad. He knew that Aziraphale liked the real thing, but this would have to do for now. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” Aziraphale said after a while.

“Where?” Crowley asked. 

“Alpha Centauri?”

Crowley chuckled. “That’s a very long flight. Maybe somewhere on Earth for now, until we both heal.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale reached out a hand for Crowley, and Crowley delicately took it. It felt good to be having contact with him after all that had happened. Despite everything, the both of them had made it out, together. “How about Iceland? I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Iceland it is then,” Crowley said with a smile. “Hold on tight.”

Aziraphale smiled back at him. “Always.” 


End file.
